VOTE: September '08 Challenge

[kailhofer]

NOTE: This will be the 1st challenge started under the new forum software, and will be set to automatically close after 7 days (Oct. 1). This was posted at 10:00, but the poll may or may not close exactly at 10 p.m. on the 1st. Since the polls don't seem to indicate when they are closed or not if you've already voted, the official announcement of the winner will appear on Thursday, Oct. 2, 2008. Remember, you must register to vote.



The 200 Challenge:

The task was to write the most compelling 200-word story opener possible in a SF, fantasy, or horror genre. Entries were limited to the "hook" only and should be judged on how much they make you want to read a story that could follow.



THE FOLLOWING ENTRIES WERE RECEIVED:




The 9 Ways of Truth



His was a soul seeking asylum.

From his vantage point Gunnar Truth surveyed the village wall. Though hidden by the morning fog now, he knew that the heat of the sun would quickly boil it off in the high places first, and he was behind a rock on a hill. Some sort of winged insect the size of a sparrow from back home whirred past his nose and made him jump back. Even after weeks he was still skittish and in this harsh land it was amazing he was still alive.

His hand reflexively caressed the butt of the pistol in his holster. What he wouldn’t give for a light-beam weapon, but in this case he was indeed thankful to God for this bountiful gift. Few who dropped had weapons of any sort. Any smart enough to make one on the surface usually didn’t have time. Gunnar had only nine bullets left... he felt like a cat.

It would be much safer in the village: warmth from the freezing nights, shade from the burning days, food, water. But before he walked down and introduced himself, he had to determine which sect they belonged to. He only prayed they weren’t Catholics.


[align=center]The End[/align]



Metamorphosis



I yawned, opened my eyes - and then immediately closed them again. The light was so bright! I let go with my feet and dropped, spreading my wings as I fell. I kept my eyes closed; by some instinct, I opened my mouth and sang instead. Only instead of hearing my own voice - as you might no doubt expect - I rather heard the objects around me singing. It was - I don't really know how to describe it properly. The best I can do would be to suggest that they sang back in colours rather than sounds - the bookcase, for example, was a bright white sound, while the unmade bed in the corner of the room was a muted and very dark navy blue.

Breakfast I thought. I left my room, went to the staircase, flew over the banister and -

- now, I realise I'm not exactly a morning person, but I have to admit that, odd though it seems to write about it now, at the time I didn't even notice anything strange. In fact, the utter weirdness of the whole morning only hit me when my sister first saw me, when she cried out:

"A BAT!"


[align=center]The End[/align]



Damaris's Sword



I curse my teachers of Latin with their fine letters, and those masters of rhetoric who drilled me for hours. I curse them for they taught me to write. I hate them for it -- for now I must write this. And I curse you who reads this most miserable missive in your hands. I hate myself for the writing.

A scratchy hay nest hides me as I compose. I have nothing to fear if I am discovered. I am in a barn on the Estates Coucy. All know me here as the youngest child of the Earl. I have two things to accomplish before stepping into my father's keep. First the words you read. Second, I must secret my treasure on the estate, throwing it into a bog on the eastern boundaries, seventeen steps from the gnarled oak tree with its wide and varied limbs.

I delay my tale...

“This sword does not stand between the king and his enemies. This sword trains the swords that do stand twixt the royal purple and its foes. Now, en garde.” Damaris charged me. My practice sword flew away into the air. I fell ignominiously on my flat ass, deflecting his blade.


[align=center]The End[/align]



A Metallic Pounding



Stephen woke to the metallic pounding of a nearby engine, felt its oily heat practically searing his skin. He closed his eyes again briefly, hoping that wherever he now was would go away and take the blasted machine with it. It didn’t. Giving in then to the heat, odor, and relentless sound, Stephen took in his new, alien surroundings.

“Hell,” he said, “I’m in hell.”

“Of course you’re in hell,” a nearby voice yelled, giving Stephen such a start that he nearly fell off the small cot on which he had been lying.

“Yiieee!” he screamed.

“Knock that off,” the voice said gruffly.

Stephen looked over to see a short, filthy character snarling at him.

“Get up and get busy.”

“You can see me?” Stephen asked.

“Of course I can see you,” the man said, “you bone-idle, jackanapes?”

“Hurry with that coal,” another man, standing by a large oven at one end of the large engine, called over, “and stop jibber jabbin’ wit yourself.”

“This is not happening,” Stephen said, shaking his head.

He closed his eyes again, but when he reopened them, the two men and the merciless machine were still there.

“Crap,” he groaned, “holy crap.”


[align=center]The End[/align]



Premonition



She sighed and plopped onto her squashy lounge chair. At last, after a long day at work, she could relax. She put her feet up and reached for the TV remote. And then suddenly – she felt it coming. She had learnt, now that she had been getting premonitions for almost ten years, to know when one was about to come.

It had started when she was still in school, with trivial things, like a premonition of what questions would be in a test. Over time, she had begun to see more and more important things, and over the past couple of years, whatever she saw was generally the top headline in the next day’s newspaper.

The dizziness… the feeling of very rapid movement… and then it came. A body… her father’s body! Everything went dark and she flashed back to reality, where she was whimpering and crying. ‘Dad… dad!’ She cried for hours, until she ran out of tears and just sat there, rocking herself in the darkness. Even then, in the silence, she couldn’t admit to herself what she had seen. She couldn’t admit that tomorrow her father would die, and that… that she would kill him.


[align=center]The End[/align]

[kailhofer]

To be quite honest; if "Egg Paragon and the Spruce Tree Helpers" were a contest entry instead of an example, I would vote for it. (Finish the story, Mr. Kailhofer, please! I really do want to read it...)

Heh-heh. Thanks. Different kinds of stories appeal to different audiences.

Egg Paragon has been an unfinished/under-developed story that I've never been able to write or shake off since '93. If I could ever finish it, it would be my most favorite piece. I have damn funny bits written, interesting setting and underlying backstory, almost scene-stealing supporting characters, a love interest for Egg, a well-defined (sub?)villain, but no plot worthy of the quality of parts for it. Not enough risk, not enough challenge, and not enough twist to dazzle a reader.

So it waits for inspiration to tie it all together.


Nate

[kailhofer]

Hmmm. If there is too little challenge, then presumably Egg has a lot of success. Which immediately opens the door for a possible villain; a second truckdriver, a man whose skills in truck driving and truck emptying are second only to Egg's; but, before long, a man whose jealousy at Egg's success begins to outweigh his conscience, to the point that before the end of the story he attempts to kill Egg.

Alternatively, his old toxic-waste-dumping supervisor might seriously want Egg back on the job he was so good at; he might have a long talk with Egg, find out all Egg knows about what's going on, and then turn up with suitable tools to try to destroy the source of the spruce trees in Egg's office (such as a complicated legal document if it is human, a large saw if it is a tree, a camera set to run all night if it is unknown).

You're not thinking nearly big enough. The main (overt) villain to him is a U.S. Senator, bound and determined to stop Egg (and his army of hippie-esque eco-helpers) from saving the world through regulation, law, and trying to sway public opinion away from their hero. If anyone ever believed the Damn Thing was real besides Egg and his upper-level supporting cast, the Senator would try to stop that, too. And all for noble reasons, on top of it all.

Egg is meant to be a variation on the antihero/antivillain model, in that he always sets out to do evil, but it goes wrong, and he becomes even more a hero, saving the very thing he'd like to ruin. However, he's more the opportunist when it comes to wrecking nature than a deliberate planner.

Sort of. It's all kind of experimental.

Then there is also the question - if the trees have chosen Egg, do the trees have an ancient and powerful enemy of some kind? Like the grasses, jealous of the trees' height (except the bamboo) and tendency to prevent the run from reaching the ground. Or do they have a new and powerful enemy, in the toxic waste dumps, that does not want to lose a champion like Egg, leaving him in either case trapped between two powerful forces, both with their own, seperate agendas, both with different ideas of what he should be doing.

Or any combination thereof... I'm sure you could come up with something.

The war between the trees and their mortal enemy has been waged for millions of years, since their foe was forced into the sea. Both sides play the long game, and Egg Paragon's part has been planned for thousands of years... That is, whenever I figure out what that's going to be.

Oh, and just to be different, there's commercials, too. Not sure where they're going to tie back in, but they're funny so far.

Nate

[kailhofer]

Whether the poll still allows changes or not after this point or not, I'm calling it. It's official. It's a tie.

Congratulations to J. Davidson Hero and Kerry Callaghan, winners of the "200" Challenge, for their stories "The 9 Ways of Truth" and "Premonition".

For the record, these were the authors of the stories this month:

The 9 Ways of Truth by J. Davidson Hero
Metamorphosis by Casey Callaghan
Damaris's Sword by G.C. Dillon
A Metallic Pounding by J.B. Hogan
Premonition by Kerry Callaghan

Thank you to each of these writers. Your continued hard work and dedication makes these challenges possible.

Be looking for The Evil Henchman Challenge October 10th!

Nate